I brought the page closer to my eyes and watched the shaky blue lines cross the typed baseline of the form.

Each letter was a quiet lie meant to strip away my home, my future and the safety of the baby growing inside me.

I sat on the cold wooden bench, tracing the shaky, forged cursive of my name across the chilly copy paper.

Arthur Miller nudged his wire-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose and held the copied prenuptial addendum under his desk lamp.

The smell of damp carpet hung thick in the narrow strip mall office.